


The Shower Diva Problem

by owlinaminor



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre has a problem.  More specifically, he has a roommate named Courfeyrac who sings in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shower Diva Problem

Combeferre has a problem.

More specifically, he has a roommate named Courfeyrac, who should by all rights come with a warning label.

Combeferre first wrote the label in his head late at night before finals their very first semester, driven more than a little crazy by the stress of upcoming exams (and, well, Courfeyrac), and has been editing it every so often ever since.  It isn’t written down anywhere (lest the curly-haired miscreant find it somehow) but if you asked Combeferre, he could recite it easily:

_One (1) roommate. Medium height and build; curly, brown hair; brown eyes.  Goes by Courfeyrac.  Warnings: prone to be exceedingly loud, cheerful, and annoying, no matter how early in the morning it is or how many exams you have in the next few hours.  Very attractive.  Exceedingly attractive.  Unfairly attractive.  (Beware in particular of the excited smile that he exhibits when he’s pleased with himself.  It occasionally is accompanied by an enthusiastic bounce, which is even worse.)  Has literally no regard for personal space.  Flirts with anything and everything that moves.  Sings in the shower._

The last one, in particular, is proving to be the main problem for Combeferre.  Courfeyrac takes long, frequent showers (to maintain his exquisite good looks, he says, and – well, Combeferre can’t exactly argue with that) and always spends the entire time _singing_.

Singing – and this is half the problem, really – just about anything.  Courfeyrac goes from the Beatles to Iron Maiden to everything in between, to the point where Combeferre hadn’t even known there were so many different types of music before he met Courfeyrac.  He has an affinity for Owl City, Combeferre has noticed, particularly when he’s in a good mood (and it should say something that Combeferre can tell his friend’s mood by the music he sings in the shower.)  Sometimes, when Courfeyrac is either angry or stressed out, he sings Fall Out Boy – including all of the guitar parts.  He’s also been known to sing _entire musicals_ in the shower.  (They all saw Newsies during spring break sophomore year, and for weeks afterwards those songs were all Courfeyrac would sing.  He took to shouting, “The world will know!  And the journal too!” at opportune moments throughout the day, and only stopped when Enjolras threatened to strangle him with his messenger bag.)  Every so often, Courfeyrac will sing foreign songs, usually something slow, and sad, and French, and Combeferre will have to remind himself very sternly that you can’t hug people while they’re taking showers.  And then, sometimes – the _worst_ times – he Courfeyrac does Jason Mraz.  There is a song called Butterfly, and Combeferre hates it with a burning passion.  _Burning_.

He’s surprised Courfeyrac hasn’t noticed all of the times Combeferre has had to rapidly jump into the shower as soon as Courfeyrac is finished, honestly.

Of course, that isn’t to say that nobody _has_ – Combeferre’s friends aren’t all as oblivious as they might appear, and many of them have first-hand experience with what he’s taken to calling The Shower Diva Problem.  Occasionally, they’re sympathetic (Joly, in particular, has been known to pat Combeferre on the shoulder and offer him his earplugs), but usually, they just laugh at him.  The amount of times Combeferre has sat on his bed, the tips of his ears slowly turning redder and redder as his friends ask him precisely _which_ song is his favorite is borderline ridiculous.  And it’s all Courfeyrac’s fault.

Combeferre would find a solution to the problem, if only he could.  (He likes math and science, when every problem has a definite solution – simple, clear, concise.  Courfeyrac is anything _but_ simple.)  Combeferre can’t just ask Courfeyrac to stop – not without explaining why.  And he can’t explain why, because if he starts talking about how much he likes Courfeyrac’s singing, then he’ll have to talk about how much he likes Courfeyrac’s smile, and his laugh, and the face he makes when he just woke up in the morning, and his terrible jokes, and his way of cheering anyone up, and his – his everything, really.

It’s such a problem.

Combeferre is dealing with another reoccurrence of the problem when, one day, Enjolras walks in on him during a particularly trying moment – Courfeyrac is singing You’re the One that I Want from Grease, _both parts_ , it really should not be allowed.  (Combeferre is attempting to cope by lying face-down on his bed and thinking very hard about multivariable calculus.  It isn’t working.)

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras demands.

Combeferre makes a muffled groaning noise.

“’Ferre?  Seriously, are you okay?” Enjolras asks, slightly more concerned.

Combeferre mutters something that might be, “Go away.”

Enjolras never takes no for an answer, and this is no exception.  “Tell me what’s going on,” he says, grabbing his friend’s arm and yanking abruptly until Combeferre flips over onto his back.  The disgruntled academic glares at him for a bit before relenting (beating Enjolras in a staring contest is truly a feat, and even Grantaire can only do it on rare occasions) and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

“The bathroom?” Enjolras asks.  “Is something wrong with it?”

Combeferre sighs.  “No, something’s wrong with the person _inside_ it.”

“Courfeyrac?”

 _“You’re the one that I want, the one that I want_ ,” the man in question sings from the next room.  Combeferre’s face, which had been slowly shifting from brownish-gold to light pink, suddenly goes bright red.

“You and Courfeyrac, then,” Enjolras says matter-of-factly, as though pointing out that the sky is blue.  “I can see that.  You should tell him how you feel.”

“Excuse me?”

The idea has occurred to Combeferre before – briefly, in passing, before being disregarded as something completely insane.  Combeferre and Courfeyrac are friends, certainly, but the notion that they could be anything more is simply preposterous.  Courfeyrac is attractive, charming, friendly, clever – he has a date every other night, it seems sometimes, while Combeferre spends all of his time cooped up in his dorm room studying.  Courfeyrac is so far out of Combeferre’s league, it’s not even funny.

Enjolras clearly doesn’t understand any of this, though, because he says, “Just go in there and kiss him, if you really want to.  It’s not that hard.”

Combeferre sighs, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes dejectedly.  “Seriously, Enjolras, you and Grantaire have a _special_ relationship, not a normal relationship.  Stuff like that might’ve worked with him, but Courfeyrac is ... He’s ... I can’t just barge in there and kiss him!”

“Why not?”  Enjolras cocks his head, looking more confused than anything else.

“Yeah, why not?” echoes a second voice from the direction of the bathroom.

Combeferre turns around slowly – and there he is.  Courfeyrac.  In only a towel.  Only a towel, with his hair wet and his face flushed and –

“How much ... How much did you hear?” Combeferre asks faintly.  His heart must be beating a thousand beats per minute – it’s surprising his friends can’t hear it.

“A decent amount,” Courfeyrac says.  He strides forward (confident, so fucking _confident_ , the towel not even remotely slipping from his waist) until he’s standing right in front of the bed, hands on hips.  “So tell me,” he continues, “why couldn’t you just _barge in there and kiss me_?”

“Because.  Um.”  Combeferre looks down at his hands.  He’s never been at a loss for words before – this is unfamiliar territory, this whole openly admitting his feelings thing, and why, _why_ did fate have to give him Courfeyrac for a roommate?

A roommate who’s still standing in front of him and staring at him as though he’s the most important thing in the world.

“I didn’t think you’d be very receptive,” Combeferre finally says, not quite meeting Courfeyrac’s eyes.

Courfeyrac makes a small choking sound and – and suddenly Combeferre is being pulled to his feet, and Courfeyrac’s hands are cupping his face, and Courfeyrac is closer closer _closer_ –

It is, without a doubt, the best kiss of Combeferre’s life.

After a few seconds (minutes? hours? Combeferre lost track), Courfeyrac pulls back just far enough to press his forehead to Combeferre’s.

“How’s that for receptive?” he asks, grinning widely.

Combeferre goes to kiss him again.

“See?  Told you,” Enjolras says smugly from the other bed.

He’s hit by two flying pillows in quick succession on his way out of the room.

(And the next time Courfeyrac sings in the shower, he invites Combeferre to join him.)

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me about these nerds and how ridiculously in love them are on [tumblr](http://montgomeryscoott.tumblr.com/)


End file.
